


Five Times Lestrade Told Everyone They Weren't In A Relationship, and the One Time He Did

by LifetimeMovie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 5+1, Asexiness, Asexual Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-21
Updated: 2012-05-21
Packaged: 2017-11-05 18:01:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/409368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LifetimeMovie/pseuds/LifetimeMovie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5+1 fic fill for a friend of mine on Tumblr. No excuses for this. Unbeta'ed, so all suckiness is my fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Lestrade Told Everyone They Weren't In A Relationship, and the One Time He Did

Of course most people wouldn’t understand it. Lestrade barely understood it himself. But he still couldn’t help but deny whatever it was he and Sherlock were engaged in.

1.

“Look, Sherlock, I don’t mind you-” John called up the stairs, lugging an overly full bag from Tesco’s with him. He froze suddenly when he found Sherlock with his head in Lestrade’s lap, 

Sherlock texting away while Lestrade ran his fingers lazily through the tousled curls. “O-oh... I didn’t realize-” He froze awkwardly for a few moments before ducking into the kitchen.

Sherlock let out a put upon grunt, sitting up and stretching lazily. “Tea, John.”

“He’s not your bloody slave, Sherlock.” Lestrade chastised halfheartedly, still embarrassed about being caught out at... whatever this thing was.

“Close enough.” Sherlock muttered to Lestrade as he stood up, and grabbed his coat. “Never mind, John, I’ve got business to attend to.” And with a dramatic swirl, he disappeared down the stairs.

Feeling more awkward than he had in a long time, Lestrade gingerly walked into the kitchen, not quite meeting John’s gaze. His tongue felt like a lead weight in his mouth, and he couldn’t bring himself to say anything.

After an excruciatingly long time, John finally spoke. “So... you’re gay.” It wasn’t a question.

“No, I’m not.” Lestrade sighed out, running a hand through his hair. “It’s- just- He says he works better when someone strokes his hair, and if it means one less dead body, then it’s the least I can do.” The words tumbled from his mouth in a fast stream, as if the speed would make them sound less false, even to his own ears.

John didn’t say anything, just gave him a hard look, before nodding once. “Fine.”

Lestrade chewed his bottom lip and took it as his cue to leave. He really wasn’t gay. Really. It was just hard to sound convinced after you’ve met someone like Sherlock.

2.

With the rain pissing down outside of New Scotland Yard, Lestrade decided to forgo his usual walk home. He turned up the collar of his coat, and ran to the curb, hand raised to flag down a cab. With his luck, it would probably take ages.

But before he could even call out, a sleek black town car pulled up next to the curb, and the rear door smoothly opened.

Every instinct he possessed, that of a cop, of a human, and of someone who generally didn’t like to be injured urged him to run, but something held him still. A slim, gorgeous bird leaned out to him and smiled slightly.

“Get in the car, Detective Inspector.”

***

After a surprisingly quick drive, the car finally purred to a stop. Lestrade glanced out the window, and frowned at the completely empty car park. His gut churned and he had to force himself to get out of the car.

As he stepped forward, a tall, well built man stepped into the beam of the town car’s headlights. 

He leaned heavily on an umbrella and was dressed impeccably in a three piece suit. Lestrade was grudgingly aware of his own off the rack one, rumpled and creased after a long day of work. He straightened his posture and walked forward.

“Any reason why you’ve snatched up a Detective Inspector, while under surveillance in front of the Yard, in view of dozens of officials?” Lestrade barked out, hands balled into loose fists.

The man in front of Lestrade did the last thing he expected. He tipped back his head and laughed, long and loud, causing Lestrade to simple gape at him.

“Oh, my, Detective, you are rather feisty. I can see why he likes you.” The man drawled, spinning his umbrella casually.

“What the hell do you mean, ‘you can see why he likes me’? Who are you?” Lestrade demanded, sick of this man already.

“I’m just a concerned party. It’s not often Sherlock Holmes settles down.” The man smirked at him, and Lestrade could have punched him. Not again.

“I’m not his boyfriend!” He complained, then shut his mouth with a snap. He sounded bloody juvenile now, and he didn’t want to give this man the satisfaction of that.

“Oh, of course not. Officially, that is. It would hardly reflect well upon someone in your position. 

But, between us, you can tell me.” The man leaned in slightly, head cocked in what he obviously assumed was a sociable gesture. It just made Lestrade want to throttle him.

“We’re not anything!” Lestrade snapped out, pulling his hair with frustration. “Is there a reason to bringing me out here?” 

“Not anymore.” The man pulled out an actual pocket watch, on a gold chain, and glanced at the time. “You’ll find my assistant willing to take you where ever you need. I’ll be seeing you again soon, Detective.”

3.

Lestrade loved his job for the most part. But some crime scenes were harder to go to than others.

Ones with children, especially. This one seemed simple enough, an open and shut murder-suicide with an angry mother and a teenaged son staying with his father. Lestrade was inside long enough to examine the scene and confirm his suspicions, then let Anderson take over. He didn’t have to stay in there for all the tagging and bagging. More than that, he didn’t particularly want to.

A slight buzz from his mobile caused him to jump slightly, before he fished it out to check the new text. 

Anderson can actually handle this one on his own. Come to Baker Street. - SH

Lestrade smirked slightly, before tapping out his reply.

I still have to be here, even if it’s boring. -G

No you don’t. - SH 

The response came barely 20 seconds after he sent off his own message, and snorted at it. His phone soon buzzed with a new text. 

John has a date tonight. The flat will be ours. - SH

Lestrade flushed slightly, glad for the slight bite of the cold air as an excuse. Coming from anyone else, that would be a proposal he couldn’t turn down. But from Sherlock? It was just his polite way of demanding he bring take-away and not talk too much.

He had just started to type out a reply (How does chinese sound to you?), smirking slightly, when Donovan slid up next to him, and noticed his smirk.

“What’s this? Texting at a crime scene? New lady in your life, Inspector?” She plucked the phone out of his hand to read the text, and her eyes widened. Before he could grab the phone back, she had scrolled back through the last few messages. Her jaw was hanging open. 

“The freak?! You’re shaking up with him?!” Her voice was incredulous.

“I’m not ‘shacking up’ with-” he started, before she cut him off.

“My god, sir, I thought you had better taste.” She shoved the phone into his chest before turning and scurrying into the house, eying him over her shoulder. Great. The last thing he needed was to be the subject of gossip at the yard. Especially when there wasn’t anything to gossip over.  
Was there?

4.

Lestrade finally wandered into Baker Street later that night, clutching a bag of chinese takeaway and brushing the few raindrops from his hair. He was just about to head upstairs when a soft voice stopped him.

“Detective! Hold on!” Mrs. Hudson bustled out of her flat, glancing up the stairs furtively. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”

“Oh,” Lestrade breathed out, blinking owlishly. “About what?”

“I was just curious, dear,” she started, her hands clasped together. “When is your and Sherlock’s anniversary? I want to make you two something special. But I didn’t know when it was.”

“Um, Mrs. Hudson,” Lestrade reassured, “Sherlock and I aren’t together... We’re just mates.”

Mrs. Hudson tutted softly. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, dear. You’re fooling yourself if you think you’re just ‘mates’.” She patted his arm softly.

“How does he look at me?” Lestrade wondered, brow furrowed as he glanced up the stairs to where he knew Sherlock waited.

“Like the world makes sense.”

5.

Lestrade despised the Thames.

It wasn’t a particularly attractive river, and after a career made from fishing bodies out of it, the little appeal it did hold quickly vanished. So when he got a call about two fresh bodies, handcuffed together and wearing nothing but kilts, he called Sherlock. It wasn’t entirely for the case, but partially for his own benefit. The less time he had to spend on the scene, the better.

The squad car arrived just before the taxi did, and Lestrade had barely gotten out before Sherlock was sprinting past him, with John close behind.

Anderson let out a squawk of disapproval as Sherlock brushed past him and crouched over the bodies, quickly examining. Lestrade turned to talk to Donovan, who was one of the first responders, only to see her talking in quiet tones with Anderson, looking between Sherlock and himself. He forcibly bit down on the urge to growl at her, before stalking over to the body.

“What do you have?” He crossed his arms as he looked down at the pair of bodies, taking in the swelling and bruising. They really were fresh.

“Not much.” Sherlock stood, brushing off his coat.

“Try me.” Lestrade ground out, brow furrowed. He wasn’t feeling particularly patient today.

“Brothers, obviously. Barely a year apart, but with different fathers. The one on the left, older, smoker, works at a dry cleaners shop. The younger one, a middle management type, most likely working with product distribution. He died of strangulation, and the second one a bullet to the head. Obviously poised to look like a murder-suicide, due to the obvious-” he paused to pull on gloves and pluck a cord from the older one’s pocket, “placement of the weapon. But the marks on the neck are from someone taller than the older brother, and the angle of the gunshot to the back of the head is awkward at best. You’re looking for someone tall, most likely with a military background, most likely army.”

Lestrade gaped for a moment, before blinking back his shock. “You sure?”

Sherlock gave him a icy look. “Do I ever guess?”

Lestrade sighed softly. “Fair enough. I suppose you couldn’t tell us the honors and medals he won as well?”

Sherlock started to speak, but suddenly froze, eyes going wide. The insult he had prepared died on the tip of his tongue, and he dived to the older one’s side, peering intensely at his ankle. He crowed triumphantly and bounded over to Lestrade, grasping his face and kissing his forehead enthusiastically. “Ah, you’re brilliant!” Without any further explanation, he grabbed John’s arm and dragged him unceremoniously to the cab.

Lestrade very quickly became aware of most everyone’s eyes on him. Donovan smirked condescendingly at him. “So, you said you weren’t shacking up with him?”

He let out an exasperated sigh. “Oh, piss off.”

+1

One of the most shocking things about Sherlock was how physically affectionate he was. While on a case, he spurred physical contact, along with eating and sleeping, declaring them ‘just another human distraction’. Lestrade didn’t mind too terribly, because as soon as a case was over, he was perfectly content to eat takeaway, watch whatever awful (at least by his account) film Lestrade chose and curl up on the sofa.

Halfway through such an evening, with Sherlock leaning heavily against Lestrade, and their empty plates in front of them on Greg’s coffee table, Sherlock turned to look at him. “Does it bother you?”

Lestrade had to blink away from the screen, turning his head to look at Sherlock. “Does what bother me?” He queried, once again lost from the madman’s train of thought. 

“People assuming we’re together. I mean, in the carnal sense that most people mean when they refer to it as such.” Sherlock rested his chin on Lestrade’s shoulder, head cocked slightly.

“Well... we’re not, are we?” Lestrade said halfheartedly, and if he hadn’t know Sherlock as well as he did, he would have missed the flicker of emotion in his eyes. Sherlock turned to look back at the telly, but Lestrade stopped the movement. “Aren’t we?”

Sherlock wouldn’t meet his eyes. “If someone were to ask, I would say I’m in a relationship with you, Greg.” His voice was softer than expected, and he nuzzled slightly into Lestrade’s hand.

The words, sounding strangely tender coming from Sherlock’s cutting mouth, struck him hard. 

“But... I thought you weren’t into... that. Sex, that is. That you’re asexual, or whatever it is.” He stuttered over the words in his mouth, caught blindside.

“I am.” Sherlock stiffened, pride causing him to pull away. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t like the everything else bit.” He turned, scooting several inches away. “But I know that you’re... not, and if you need to go somewhere else to deal with... that, then I’d understand.”

“Oh,” was all Lestrade could manage, and set a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. “Is that what you want? Me... with you, and other people as well?” Lestrade attempted, unsure of how to phrase the whole idea.

“No.” Sherlock’s reply was immediate, and he turned to face Lestrade. “Not at all.”

Lestrade didn’t know quite what to say, so he changed subjects. “I’m not gay.”

“And this isn’t about sex.” Sherlock countered, before turning fully to be pressed against Lestrade from hip to knee. “It’s just about us.”

The expression Sherlock wore was that of one ready for rejection, and he could see the walls going up against him. Lestrade had only seen him as vulnerable as he was in this moment once before, and that was when he nearly overdosed and ended up in St. Bart’s. Before he could completely close up, Lestrade pulled him close so he was draped across his chest.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock,” he chuckled into Sherlock’s hair. “I’ve really bollocked this up, haven’t I?”

Sherlock blinked at him, obviously unsure of what he meant. Lestrade continued.

“I’ve followed you for years, where ever that ridiculous mind of your’s has lead me, and I’m not about to stop now.”

Sherlock’s lips turned up in a small smile, and countered, “Now who says old dogs can’t learn new tricks?”

And to that, Lestrade could only reply with a kiss.


End file.
